//------------------------------// // Chapter II: The Liberator // Story: Holiday Chronicles // by DVB //------------------------------// Dagran the Ram is a national hero in the Emerald Isles. Despite this, he was not born in the Isles, but in the Kingdom across, as a young Dagran Pádraig. Dagran Pádraig was born as the son of a deacon over in the region of Canis Griffinania. His grandfather was also a priest. Despite his background, Dagran wasn’t an active believer or practioner of magic. However, all of that changed one day. When he was a young teenaged ram, he was kidnapped by sheep pirates of the Emerald Isle. He was taken hostage and was brought over to the Emerald Isle. Forced into slavery, he ended up becoming a shepherd, a watcher of the wayward sheep folk. Dagran was scared. He was in a foreign land with no way out. Furthermore, he heard whispers. Rumors. Of horrible monsters that roamed the land and watched over the flocks as they minded their business, waiting to strike. In his first year, he was approaching a state of hopelessness. In that, is where the first step toward his destiny began. Dagran awoke from his nightmare. He looked around wildly before he sighed and shuddered. He held onto the only possession he had in this foreign land, a walking stick made of ash wood. Most of the sheep folk were simply minding their own business, usually farming. There was little to do around mostly. Dagran remembered when he would be bored. Now, he was just in a state of constant mild suspense. It was because of lurked across in the woods of the lands. There were all sorts of strange beings that supposedly lurked. There was the banshee. A creepy-looking caprid who’s wails was said to foretold the death of someone. It would sometimes echo around. Because of what else roamed the land, Dagran often heard this wail. The other caprids seem to have become used to it though. There was also the headless caprid, known as the Dullahan. It carried its own head on a stick attacked to it. Its head was made out of what looked like moldy cheese with constant darting eyes and a creepy grin. Its wagon was decorated with bones and seemed ready for a funeral, stopping by someone will die. There was the cat sidhe, a strange black cat that walked on its hindlegs and believed to possess powerful magic. According to ancient legends, a brown one existed that increased her powers to frightening levels with witchweed potion. All of these strange beings lurked the land, but noneso was more feared than the massive serpent-like beings that lurked around. They reminded Dagran of dragons, but they were wyrms; large dragon-like serpents. They were what terrified him the most. Dagran took another breath. This was too much. He didn’t know what to do. “Someone… please… I don’t know what to do,” he whispered. Suddenly, a calming breeze went through the air and there was a comfortable silence for a moment. “Stay strong…” “Who’s that?” Dagran said as he looked around. “The plant below…” the mysterious voice told him. He looked and saw a three-leaf clover. It was three leaves, but one plant. Dagran didn’t understand it, but it reminded him of the ponies. Three races, but one species. It didn’t matter where they came from, they were all caprids. Dagran gained the courage to smile as he placed the three-leaf clover on his staff. Everything would be okay… Six years had passed and Dagran had grown strong. He would fight the wild beasts that threatened the flocks nearby. Despite this, he still retained his desire to go home. It was then he heard the voice again… “Dagran…” Dagran perked up. It was the voice. The one that comforted him when he was younger and helped him on the path of illumination. He looked up once more and awaited. “Your ship has arrived… it is time for you to return home…” Dagran smiled before he began thinking. “Ship… ship… Closest port town was pretty far. But… I have to do this. I have to have faith,” Dagran told himself. And so he ran away from his master and traveled 200 miles to the closest port town. In a miraculous turn of event, he ended up arriving on time to a ship with a sympathetic captain who agreed to let him on. After three days, the crew arrived in Griffain. Despite this, their troubles were beginning. Twenty-eight days they have spent, wondering around in the wilderness. Hunger began taking its toll on them. However, Dagran had faith and he told them to have faith. He restored vigor into their spirits. Shortly afterwards, they went across some wild poultry, whom they captured and used for eggs, so they could gather their strength back. For this, they became grateful to Dagran. After various mishaps, he made his way back to his family, ever so grateful to see them. He was a changed ram. He left ignorant and young. He returned a little older and a little wiser. However, he was grateful to the pirates. He was grateful to the folk of the Emerald Isle. It was through there that he was illuminated. He wanted to repay them. He needed to repay them. He found his calling. He would study further to become even more illuminated. He would practice magic of all sorts. After his triumphant return back home, Dagran proceeded to study and as much as he could. Eventually, armed with his new knowledge and wisdom, he got on a ship. To return to the Emerald Isles. And free it. And so Dagran began the long journey of purging the Emerald Isles of what some called the Fair Folk. Initially, he used spells and such to repel them, but it was sometimes difficult due to how temporary the solutions were. While he would successfully go and chase the mischievous beings out, they would come back in a few more days, more cautious than last time. Furthermore, Dagran was trying to figure out how to rid the wyrms. However, one day, Dagran discovered it. “Away, vile cat sidhe,” Dagran said as he chased away the fae away from the town it was tormenting. Dagran smiled as the townsfolk cheered. However, this victory would be short-lived. This was the 3rd time he visited this town. He needed a more permanent solution to keep the beasts at bay. They weren’t terrible, barring the wyrms mayhaps, but they were rather amoral about their actions and didn’t want to share the lands. Some were good and the townsfolk came to their aid, but overall, it was a problem, He then went to his field to meditate. Interestingly enough, none of them ever came to trespass. As Dagran was in thought, he noticed some of the flowering plants growing nearby in a pond. Out of curiosity, he put some magic in him and watched it flow. It grew and split into a plant with three leaves. “Perhaps this could work,” Dagran said as he smiled and decided to test out the plant. Dubbing the ‘leaf of Pádraig’, better known as ‘leaf of Patrick’ and water-plantains, he took some with him. As he traveled, the beings stood away and even backed off, sensing the plant. With this, news spread like wildfire. The townsfolk planted the plants near their water. Around their rivers. Around their ponds and lakes. With this, most of the fair folk backed off, the power of the plants holding them back. Eventually, the benevolent ones hid in the forests while the malevolent ones were chased out west and locked inside a magical ‘Fairy Rath (ringfort)’ and hidden away by magic. In the northern regions of the Emerald Isles laid Beann Boirche, the tallest mountain of that region. On the summit, the Great Cairn was made. Over 36 meters from north to south, 43 meters from east to west and a meter high. The Great Cairn served as the portal to the strange Otherworld where most of the so-called fairy folk vanished into. To watch over it, Dagran appointed one of his younger followers, Donard, to watch over the mountain. “Sir, I thank you for this honor, but why did you select me?” Donard asked Dagran. Dagran smiled as he petted Donard on the head affectionately. “Donard, I knew you since you were in your mother’s womb. In fact, I blessed you while you still rested in it,” he told him. Donard’s eyes widened with amazement before he and Dagran faced the large monument they have made to signal the portal to the realm that became known as the Otherworld. “Donard, you will not die.” Donard faced Dagran with curiosity. “If you choose to protect this mountain, you will instead be one with it. You will be the watcher and protector of this mountain,” Dagran explained with a solemn tone. Donard faced the mountain once more. “I choose to do so, sir,” he said with confidence. And so the northern mountain was renamed Slieve Donard, and the first major milestone was completed. For the first time, the inhabitants felt free as they no longer had to live in fear, at least not as much. Despite this triumph, Dagran’s greater accomplishments were all on the horizon. Perhaps the greatest legend associated with Dagran was him chasing out the serpents out of the Emerald Isle. While modern scholars argue there were no serpents to begin with and that it was an allegory, there were in fact the wyrms. They still roamed the land. These mighty beasts surfed through the earth like fish through water and sometimes they would gobble up townsfolk like a common snake would eat a mouse. For Dagran, that was no more. Enough was enough. Dagran the Ram would cast out the wyrms out of the Emerald Isle. However, how would it be done… Dagran began roaming the land and exploring more. He preached to others and gave them hope. If they didn’t want to abandon their beliefs, it was fine. His time as a slave gave him great sympathy to the unfortunate and believed everyone to be equal in the eyes of the heavens. His followers would take the old and mix it with the new and avoided any bloodsheds. Despite this rebuilding, there was still the issue of the wyrms. However, this was initially in the back of his mind. Dagran finished his latest sermon as he rung his bell, signaling the end. “I believe that was one of my better ones,” Dagran told a disciple. “Where’d you get the bell? It looks rather lovely,” the disciple asked him. “It was a gift. From one of the tribes far away, they gave it to me. According to them, it belonged to a mythical being named Brigid. They told me that she was a grand patroness of poetry, smithing, medicine, arts and even of the spring. That she was associated with all aspects of fire, such as warmth, light and illumination. They found it fitting,” Dagran explained before some of the townsfolk fled. Dagran braced himself and so did his disciples. It was a wyrm attack. The wyrm was a rather basic one for its kind. While it was no dragon, it was still a fearsome creature. Dagran looked at the bell and suddenly, he was lit with inspiration. He channeled his magic into the bell as he was chanting under his breath. His eyes then glowed as he faced the wyrm. “BEGONE!” He bellowed as he rang the bell, filled with his will and magic. The wyrm was afraid as it submitted under the bell. It fled from the land, scared by the bell and its manager and plunged into the sea. Dagran smiled as he realized that he now knew how to purge the land of these foul serpents of the dark. The bell would work. However, Dagran knew only this bell would work. He also realized to banish every single wyrm away from the land would require powerful magic and a great deal of time. After much thought, he knew where he must go: “Everygoat. I have called you all here for a very important reason,” Dagran said to his followers. “The time has come for the Emerald Isle to be free of the monsters that has haunted it. No more will the good folk here have to live in fear. I had learned that through the power of this sacred bell imbued with my magic, a wyrm could be banished into the sea, not to disturb again,” he preached, as his followers smiled with delight. “However, to purge the land of wyrms all at once would be a tremendous and powerful task. In order to do so, I plan to go to the tallest mountain in all the land and meditate there for equal the time of the Great Deluge. From there, I shall ring the Bell and free this land!” Dagran shouted. “So I must ask of you, who will join me? The journey will be long and arduous. There will be perils as plenty wyrms will try and stop us. However, remember this: We do this not for glory or for wealth. We do this to liberate this land. We do this to guarantee the basic safety of the good lambs, goats, sheeps and good fair folk here. We do this because it is our pious duty. We do this because it is the RIGHT THING TO DO!” There was silence before each and everyone of his followers stepped up. They would go and follow him. Dagran divided them into groups. Some would stay behind and protect the town. Others would follow to find homes of their own. This brave group of warriors, archers and priests would go down to be known as the Fellowship of the Shamrock. However, the wyrms were mobilizing…. The tallest mountain in the land was Corrán Tuathail, located among the southern-west regions of the land. The group plans to navigate over there by taking the River of Sionna as southmost as they could. Before it empties into sea, they will stop and continue their journey on foot. As the brave group of warriors, preists and paladins made their way down to the river, any wyrm was banished by Dagran and Brigid’s Sionna’s river was quite vital to the Emerald Isle since ancient times. If one dared to disturb it, it could be disasterous for many. One powerful and clever wyrm decided to do that when news reached of Dagran’s attempts to drive its kind out of the Isles. “Something is wrong here.” Dagran noticed the flow of the water began going backwards, away from their destination, rather towards it. The ships they were on began rocking and shaking from the two flows disrupting one of another and Dagran managed to get his party onto land. “It appears something has usurped the flow of the river,” Dagran said as he led the party to the nearby town. There was trouble alright. “The river began acting like this a week ago,” one of the villagers told Dagran. “Not only can we not sail, but much of the fish have been disturbed by this and we fear matters will grow worse,” he told him. “I found something!” Another of the villagers cried out as he ran toward them. Dagran led his followers to what he found. It was a rather large scale. Dagran poked it with his ash stick before he scowled. “A wyrm. Judging by the size and luster, it is a mighty one indeed. If it believes it can stop us, it is mistaken,” Dagran said. Knowing the wyrm must be crafty, he began planning. However, they would need a diversion. “Who here is brave enough to join us in luring the wyrm out?” He asked of the townsfolk. There was initially silence before a slightly slurred voice was heard. “I will.” The townsfolk stepped back to reveal the brave and mildly inebriated goat. “The name is Ó Ruairc. I haven’t seen this wyrm and I have been coming to and from the river,” he said. “I see. Do you know anything significant while you do your routes?” Dagran asked him. Ó Ruairc began thinking. “Not really. I’m just a humble bard, a piper,” he answers. Dagran rubbed his beard in thought before he smiled. “My friend, you may be exactly what we need,” Dagran stated. The group began to approach the river where the wyrm stayed. “There he is. He is said to be one of the oldest wyrms here. His name is Oilliphéist,” the village elder said to Dagran. “What do you need me to do?” Ó Ruairc asked Dagran. “I need you to play your pipes as best as you can and as long as you can,” Dagran answered. Ó Ruairc smirked before he went over near the beast. Unlike most wyrms, this one was winged. Dagran positioned the archers near the wings in order to prevent the beast from returning. Ó Ruairc took a large breath and began playing. He began playing loud and long. It wasn’t long before Oilliphéist took noticed and swallowed him. However, that did not stop Ó Ruairc. In the belly of the beast, he continued to play, without a care of the world. The constant music began to drive the Oilliphéist insane. It swam around and thrashed in order to try and silence the drunk piper in vain. At this, Dagran had the archers proceed to launch arrows at the Oilliphéist’s wings, causing it further pain. Dagran then blocked out all noise and began to chant as the warriors damaged the wings and any other part of the wyrm they could. The Oilliphéist could stand no more and spat out the piper. He laughed at the massive wyrm before the wyrm realized it was a trap. Before he could do anything, Dagran played his bell and the burst caused the wyrm to tumble. The river carried the Oilliphéist out into the sea, never to bother them again. “We did it. Let’s all celebrate with some whisky,” Ó Ruairc said, earning the laughter of everyone, his included. With the news of the Oilliphéist being defeated and banished, some of the wyrm fled in fear. However, most stayed, still steadfast in the impossibility that the ram could banish them all. Eventually, the Fellowship of the Shamrock reached it. Corrán Tuathai. The tallest mountain of the Emerald Isles. They began to climb the mountain from the north-eastern side. The group traveled along the Hag's Glen and up the steep Devil's Ladder. After approaching the mountain path, they traveled north-west and reached the summit. While most of the group began to prepare for the long days and nights to watch out for any wyrms, Dagran prepared for his meditation. For fourty days and fourty nights, he stood there meditating with this bell in front of him. He ate nothing. He drank only the dew that collected in his goblet. Every hour he channeled his magic into the bell and began chanting and praying from his personal book, ‘The Angels’ Gospel.’ And then, he stood. He had an eerie green glow to him. His followers stood back and prepared himself. To every wyrm that was out there, they felt it. It was magic… no, it was as if powerful magic had been touched by the divine… A miracle was about to occur. “TO ALL WRETCHED WYRMS WHO CURSE THIS LAND, BY THE POWER INVESTED IN ME BY THE HEAVENS, I BANISH ALL OF YOU FROM THE EMERALD ISLES!!!” he commanded. From there, a powerful ringing sound was heard from the almighty bell. All across the Emerald Isles, all the wyrms big and small began fleeing from the powerful command, reinforced by the scared bell and great amounts of magic. It was a site to see as wyrm after wyrm fled the Emerald Isles. Dagram collapsed back and his followers caught him. They cheered and celebrated. All the wyrms were gone. And yet, the bell awoke something else. Slumbering from under the earth, it arose. The mother of all monsters in the Emerald Isles. Caoránach. “I think I am being followed,” Dagran wrote in his journal. After the quest, the group moved on with their lives. “It has been several years since we have banished all the wyrms. I have been hearing the rumors. That a greater and fouler beast has been awakened on that day. I believe that was also when the mysterious sheep began following me. She seems to be afraid to come near my home on Cruach Phádraig, a mountain the Isles let me name.” “In my dreams, the voice that has guided me throughout my life ever since that day has told me to head north.” “Near a lake of red, is where my final act will occur.” “I write this as the final chapter of my mortal life and I am thankful for everything” Dagran finished before he got his staff, now a crosier, and began heading north, with the mysterious sheep following him also. It had been a long journey and now it was time to end. Dagran approached the lake. It was Loch Derg. The ewe behind him was gone. Suddenly, a massive serpent, larger than any wyrm he has seen arose. It was her. The mother of all demons. Caoránach. She roared in a hissing fashion at him. Dagran prepared himself as he submerged himself in the water to fight the mother of all monsters. Dagran and Caoránach fought in the lake for two days and two nights. Despite this, they were at a stalement. Caoránach attempted to swallow Dagran. A foolish mistake. Not giving up or giving in, Dagran slashed his way out of the mother of monsters. She bled into the lake, turning it a crimson. Dagran leaped out and prepared his final incantation. As Caoránach struggled, she was levitated as Dagran’s strongest spell stripped her of her flesh and her bones began turning to stone. Eventually, an island was formed. Dagran used his crosier to drag her spirit. As he walked on the island, he plunged her into the deepest pit he found and she would remained trapped in what would be known as St Patrick’s Purgatory for all time. “It is done,” he said as he rested his staff on the ground and laid near it. “The Emerald Isles are free.” As he closed his eyes, it was as if time had not passed it all or perhaps time passed quickly. It was total stillness before he saw a purple feather land on him. “Dagran the Ram. You have freed the Emerald Isles. Your descendants as well as the descendants of your followers will spread all across the world and celebrate the meaning of the spirit of the Emerald Isles.” “Will you protect this?” Dagran smiled as he closed his eyes once more. “Aye.” And suddenly, he vanished in shamrocks. Many of his followers held a funeral and was regarded as one of the greatest heroes. He remained in their hearts and in the hearts of the future folk who came from the Isles of Green. And they say he is out there. Bringing mirth and helping those connect to the strange but joyful homeland of the Emerald Isles and to remember his courage in freeing it.